The Last Time
by barefoot11
Summary: Bruises, cuts, black eyes: those, Gilbert could handle. Inquisitive little blondes? ...Not so much. Human names used, Prussia/Canada if you squint, AU, song!fic


Groups. Groups were… okay. But with such a dysfunctional crowd of co-workers, Matthew was getting worried. Barely anyone could stand one another, let alone when put in groups of three or four. Unease settled familiarly in his heart. They had begun this… calming activity for the sole fact that no one got along; the boss wanted everyone to get a grip on their flammable tempers. He wasn't sure how this… instructor that had come in would possibly be able to survive when he tried putting Romano with Antonio, or splitting up Raivis from Toris, who the shorter thoroughly relied on. Fearing for the other's life, Matthew hurried over to the instructor and patted his shoulder. "I wouldn't do that, if I was you…" He sensibly advised, when he had tried urging Arthur closer to a grinning Francis.

The instructor, flustered, only blinked a few times before heeding to the blonde's warning, with a grateful smile.

_If I had to_

Matthew sighed, happy that a disaster had been – however narrowly – avoided. He strolled through the other workers easily, and then something caught his eye. The mop of silver hair instantly made a smile pull on his lips. He walked toward his friend and asked, "What do you think of these new 'calming classes'?" He settled himself next to him, both of them staring at the others, who were quickly being paired and sorted like disorganized toys.

_I would put myself right beside you_

Gilbert snorted, crossing his arms in a depreciatory manner, and momentarily rolling onto his heels. "Seems useless to me. We're all fine the way we were! Getting rid of the arguments would make this place _boring_."

Raising an eyebrow, he questioned, "You do know you cause more than half of those arguments, don't you?" He smiled in a somewhat-innocent way when an amused gaze was placed on him. Faintly, Matthew registered a hungry moan from an Italian across the room that was missing his third lunch break.

He laughed under his breath, mischievous intent and pride slipping through. "Damn right," he full-heartedly agreed.

Matthew looked up to his friend to comment, but something he saw first stopped him. "Gil…" The sudden change of his voice attracted Gilbert's full attention, and the blonde reached up to trail his fingers over a cut badly concealed behind a high collar on Gilbert's neck. The touch was feather-light, and he brought it down quickly. "Gil, what happened here?"

_So let me ask_

Instantly tense, Gilbert adverted his eyes to look at the other workers again. He rubbed his hand over the mark, as if trying to make it fade. He made no move to bring the conversation any farther.

Matthew's heart tightened figuratively, after catching a slight glimpse of guilt in the silverette's eyes. It was gone within a moment. "…You had another cut like that, on your arm last week, too," he dimly remembered, looking down at the arm in mentioned before looking back up to Gilbert. "Is everything okay?"

_Would you like that?_

Setting up his defenses quite skillfully, Gilbert opened his mouth to release any half-thought-out excuse that would fall. But luckily, the day seemed to like him.

The instructor came over rather awkwardly, after picking up a clipboard. "Um, are you Gilbert?" He asked, glancing into blood-red eyes. When there was a relieved nod in the affirmative, he smiled and said, "Well, your boss put you down as one of the ones that really need to do this… follow me."

Instead of exclaiming how 'awesome' he was, and that he didn't need to do the activities because of that, the Prussian took the chance that had presented itself and willingly followed behind the nervous man like a loyal puppy.

_Would you like that?_

Left standing alone, Matthew felt something hot and slick run through his body. Suspicion was finally starting to rise, and he couldn't shake the feeling.

* * *

It wasn't if… it wasn't if Matthew didn't _trust_ his friend. He had the utmost faith in him. It was just that, when he thought about it, those little cuts and bruises that erupted on the silverette's skin had been showing up for _so long_. Not just the week before! Why he hadn't put two and two together earlier, he would never understand. So, when Gilbert stood on his front porch, demanding 'why the hell he had called so late; it better be a damn emergency', Matthew steeled to waste so time at all. He reached out, grabbed his friend clumsily on the arm and pulled him inside. When they were both within the threshold, he tightly locked the door. He turned to face the other, sizing him up with his critical stare.

Thumping outside of the hallway's window was the rain that had threatened to fall on Gilbert as he had came. He wearily glanced toward it, before staring harshly back to his friend, rubbing his arm where it had been touched. "…What the hell, Matt?" All at once, the tall white walls seemed about to crush him.

_And I don't mind_

"You're going to tell me where you got that scratch." Ruthlessly, the blonde reached out and poked his neck. "And this one…" He took his arm again, pushing up the dark sleeves before prodding a faint pink line. "And… and these!" He turned Gilbert's left hand over, revealing many tiny pin-pricks of scars across the palm and fingertips. "Gil!" Letting the hand drop like a falling marble, he motioned wildly with his arms for a few moments, his momentary confidence fading and his words leaving him.

All Gilbert did in response was clench his jaw. Then, after tense moments in which the rain played stories of its own, he said, "…I need a beer." And he turned fully around, and marched to the kitchen as his mind rolled in cart-wheels. Even as he flicked the switch in the room, it didn't light up his thoughts or untangle his emotions. He distractedly pulled open the refrigerator's door when he heard footsteps coming after him. "Fuck," he cursed bitterly, as he grabbed a can and hurriedly popped it open. When Matthew arrived in the doorway, angry and irritated, the silverette took a long swig, cleverly avoiding eye contact. It went on longer than expected, but finally, he was at a loss – no more liquid in the can. When he tried to make another escape – he was starting to second-guess himself; when running away from a problem, why in the world would you run into it: like he had run into Matthew's house? Idiot… – the blonde closed the fridge before anything else could be grabbed.

"Gilbert, I'm serious here!" He pleaded, leaning his back against the appliance and crossing his arms. His burning eyes seared their way into the silverette's, causing a slight cringe in the latter, despite the cold beverage he had inhaled. Matthew didn't even falter when he heard choice words being muttered. "I… I, well, believe it or not, actually _care_! I know you're a big tough guy and everything, but…" He deflated with a sigh. "I have a feeling that whatever's going on won't go away that easily." He let his hand stray to play with his hair. He noticed what a stare he was getting. Within the red of Gilbert's eyes were scorn, fury, and ultimate defiance. Again, he withered. "I just… don't want you getting hurt, is all, though it seems I'm too late to do anything…" As they spoke, the scars were sinking into pale skin.

_If you say this love is the last time_

After crushing the empty can in his hand – he felt the sharp need for violence at the moment, and that was the only thing to satisfy the craving – he tossed it into the trash can across the tiled room. It bounced of the rim, landing on the floor, and he said nothing. Mentally, he was weighing his options, but he knew what would have to happen if nothing appeared to save him… and he didn't want to have to force Matthew into secrecy.

The silence was killing him. It was slicing through him like a double-edged knife, and Matthew couldn't take it. The rain had even stopped, if only momentarily, and that made it worse. "You know what…" He ran his fingers through his hair. "Fine. I don't want to waste your time. Either spill, or you can leave." _But don't you dare think that I'm giving up on you_, he added in his mind.

_So now I'll ask_

Something along the lines of a morbid smile finally crossed Gilbert's face. He stretched his arms above his head, exposing the few cuts to his midsection, which Matthew shielded his eyes from. "Even if this was a total waste of my Wednesday night, I guess I can't blame you for wanting to be around the awesome me afterhours." His eyes were completely unreadable.

_Do you like that?_

Matthew clenched his hands, but knew he had lost control of the situation. He had approached the subject in the worst manner; why hadn't he thought it out a bit more? Impulsive actions of his – though rare – always ended in failure. But he never seemed to learn! "…Go."

Gilbert forced a laugh. "You'll miss me, I know!" Facades, he realized, were actually quite useful. He leaned forward, rustling the shorter man's hair for no reason – maybe he needed a reassuring touch, maybe Matthew needed one. It didn't matter.

_Do you like that?_

Matthew stepped away from under the other's hand, and numbly motioned to the door. His head bent, and he stared at his shiny floor in a helpless manner. He remained silent as he chewed on his bottom lip, already forming another way of action.

"I'm gone!" The silverette defended, putting his hands up after a moment, and taking long strides to the door. "Thanks for the beer!"

_NO!_

* * *

Gilbert's demeanor, Matthew realized, was so normal when he had left that it almost seemed like things could possibly go back to normal. They had never been the greatest friends, granted – they just seemed to have an ineffable fondness for one another that kept them within the other's presence. But apparently, this wasn't enough, for Thursday morning, Matthew found himself by the coffee machine much alone, instead of being accompanied by the silverette like he had for the past few years. He sighed, and stirred the dark liquid that had gone cold half-an-hour earlier.

_Something's getting in the way_

Guilt pulled at the Canadian like strings on a puppet. He couldn't shake them off, no matter how hard he wiggled or cried. It was such a bothersome feeling that covered him in a cold blanket, arousing his sense of right and wrong. He wasn't even sure if Gilbert had showed up to work, so he couldn't even relieve the burden by apologizing. He couldn't do anything until he saw his friend again. Everything would fall apart if he didn't, honestly, since he knew that Gilbert was the only friend he had left.

_Something's just about to break_

He glanced over his shoulder. The computer before him began its screensaver, and he knew that even if he did take it off, he would just become idle again, and the cycle would repeat. He honestly didn't feel like worrying about it. He looked back, watching the little icon slowly dart across the screen. It released a portal for his mind to wonder and conjure up theories: What exactly had caused those bruises and cuts on Gilbert's body?

_I will try to find my place_

But, after everything he thought of, Gilbert was the only one who held the key – the only one with the definite answer.

_So tell me how it should be_

* * *

Matthew went through work quietly. No one took notice of his somber attitude – though no one was looking at him. He usually was quite silent. He offered slight smiles to other co-workers when they caught each other's eyes, but he attempted nothing more. He was still mulling over the problem in his own head, he didn't need to mock worry for theirs.

While walking home, he was utterly shocked when he noticed a pale-haired male walking down a nearly deserted sidewalk next to a lightly-trafficked street. It was too familiar for him to pass up. Though it was out of his own way, he turned and quickened his pace, until his footsteps were falling right beside the other's. Gilbert didn't seem surprised, but then again, he didn't offer a reaction at all, except for a raspy cough.

When Matthew looked to him, he was greeted with a sour sight. "What… what happened?!" He couldn't help but let his worrisome instincts take over. He moved in front of his friend, brushing bloody bangs from his face to reveal all of the facial damage: a blackened eye, a few nicks in his skin and a long, bleeding trail from the bottom of his forehead around to his chin. "Gilbert, come on, I'm taking you back to my place – I can clean you up." He couldn't find any reason whatsoever for Gilbert to walking around in such a state!

_Try to find out what makes you tick_

Matthew began pulling on his arm, leading him away, and Gilbert managed a slight grunt of protest. His mind was such a fog, but he vaguely realized that he shouldn't be around the blonde after what had just happened… the younger would become a witness – again!

"Oh, Gilbert," he said sorrowfully, clinging to the arm so desperately, like a childhood stuffed animal. He tried to think of what had happened to his friend – ever the over-thinker – just to distract himself from interrogating the taller man outright. His pace quickened in urgency. Then suddenly, an ear-splitting bang scattered his thoughts so effectively, and searing, hot pain in his shoulder mumbled the words in his mind to mush that even he couldn't comprehend. He let go of his friend to grip his own right shoulder, which blood began spilling from. He had… he had been shot!

_As I lie down, sore and sick_

Matthew exhaled sharply, before bending his head and biting down on his lip. "G-G-Gilbert… I-I think I've been –" The pain was something he had never felt before. He felt the blood sliding through his fingers and staining his skin. He had such terrible luck – getting randomly hit by a drive-by shooter? He panted again, and then lightly put himself down on his knees.

_Do you like that?_

"Those fuckin' bastards!" Gilbert interrupted in a roaring voice that ripped through the evening's silence. He was looking around in every direction with grief-stricken eyes. Where did that purple car go?! He had seen it in his peripheral vision not moments before. Adrenaline pushed the clouds from his head, allowing logic and quick thinking back in. He forgot about the pain in his face, or in the rest of his body.

_Do you like that?_

Matthew gripped at Gilbert's dirty pants, tugging at them like a needy child. He closed his eyes – seeing blood covering the sidewalk made him so sick, it was criminal. All of this actually was criminal… his thoughts wandered and blurred; he wasn't sure where he was going with them anymore. He tugged again. "G-Gilbert…" He managed, weakly, and the wind stole the words from his lips.

_There's a fine line_

All at once, Matthew heard a sharp cry of, "There!" before the legs that he had been holding on to so despairingly disappeared, and he heard footsteps running away from him. Gilbert was gone. He was alone, left with a bullet and a vivid sense of surreal panic.

_Between love and hate_

He gasped out a few breaths – dimly knowing that they might be the last ones he'd ever have – and laid himself on his back. He felt a slight shiver as the concrete made contact with the skin on his arms and ankles – such a fearful sensation, cold was, when everything else within you felt so hot: hot with hate, hot with pain, hot with distress. Along with the intense pain, he had never felt any emotions like those before.

_Just let me say that I like that_

Matthew couldn't sort through his thoughts. The hate – was it for the shooter, or for Gilbert? Where was Gilbert? Why did he leave? Was he going to die? They all formed together like pieces of a quilt and pressed behind his eyes, effectively obscuring his sense of the world. He let his thoughts fade into darkness, and the darkness sang him syrupy lullabies that he could taste on his tongue. It relieved him, and let him forget about traitorous friends, facial wounds and purple cars.

_I like that_

* * *

After who knows how long, Matthew could feel his succulent darkness deteriorate, and let light and reality seep through. Along with this came the stinging sensation to his frayed nerves. He didn't like it. He tried to close his eyes again, but he heard something calling out for him. He wasn't exactly sure if it was the darkness calling, or something else, but he relented to lift his eyelids.

Instantly, he wasn't familiar with his surroundings. He wasn't on the cold, unforgiving cement, and he wasn't in a hospital bed. Wherever he was, he wasn't comfortable. He figured that he was on a scratchy, maybe old couch from the position his body was in. A light red blanket was dropped over his shoulders. His glasses were gone, so he couldn't go into detail about anything else – it all was an unclear mix of colors before his eyes. Was anyone there to help him?

All at once, a new, moving blob of color entered the scene. It brought a sense of knowing with it, but he couldn't exactly place what it was, being as near-sighted as he was. They'd need to get closer before anything could make sense.

"So you're finally awake…"

_Desperate, I will crawl_

The glossy, strained voice almost physically shocked Matthew. He took an acute breath, before looking upward, scanning the mix of colors to find two dots of red.

"Took you long enough. I was thinking that I might just have to pay for an ambulance, which isn't awesome." Gilbert placed a tray on the small table, and then crossed his arms, while watching the blonde with a pensive gaze.

There was a scrambled moan in response, before Matthew actually found himself able to form words. "I… where am I?" He rubbed at his sore eyes with his left hand – he didn't want to see if he could move the other one. The pain that would result in such an experience wasn't worth the try.

Gilbert scoffed, "My house. Can't you see the awesomeness everywhere, on everything?" He gestured with his bandaged hand.

"…I honestly can't see anything at the moment, to tell you the truth," Matthew mumbled, staring up numbly in his friend's general direction. He rested his useable hand over his stomach.

"Oh, yeah. Your specs… 'bout those…" Gilbert looked around, trying to spot exactly where he had put those… on the counter, on the table, on top of the television? "Oh, found 'em!" He reached forward, plucking them from beside the tissue box. He handed them to the Canadian.

Matthew mumbled a 'thanks' and slid them on. It was a bit harder without his right hand helping, but he succeeded after a few tries. Now that the physical world was cleared up, he thought it appropriate for his jumbled mess of a mind to be put to ease. "So what happened?" Broad enough to start a conversation with the nervous Prussian, he noted. Anything too specific and the silverette panicked and ultimately fled from the scene like a frightened rabbit.

_Waiting for so long_

Gilbert heavily set himself down on the black recliner across from the couch, granting both of them full view of one another. He rocked himself on it for a few moments before ejecting the foot rest and using that. He chewed on his bottom lip.

After securing his left hand under his pillow, the blonde turned sideways a bit so he could better see his friend. The action pulled a hiss of discomfort from between his lips, but he got used to it.

"…I made a mistake," Gilbert began, looking toward the ceiling. It bothered him so badly that he had to do this – it felt so unnatural. "I… well, it was a really big mistake, I guess. And I couldn't get out of it. I had… witnessed something – you know, that 'wrong place at the wrong time' mombo-jumbo – and it was a murder… that was, um, three months ago." He quirked his lips. Had it really been only three months? He counted backward in his head to see that it only had been three months. It, to him, had felt so much longer. "But the gang who had did it didn't do all that shit where witnesses are killed. They just let me live if I joined, so that's what I did." He shrugged nonchalantly, and then glanced to the clock over the television. "And all those cuts and things that you were so fuckin' worried about were from the gang fights we got in – I must say; I was pretty damn good! I never knew that I had a natural sense for fighting!"

_No love_

Horrified at his friend's excitement for such atrocious acts, Matthew gaped and sputtered, "Gilbert! How could you honestly…?"

_There is no love_

Gilbert shrugged again. "If I didn't, they'd kill me, remember." He fixed a glare on the smaller for a moment before staring at the ceiling again. He had never really looked at his ceiling so fixedly before… "So I've been doing that." Suddenly, that horrible feeling of regret settled down in his conscious. This was going to be the hardest part, he knew for sure. He bit the bullet. "And the guy that shot you was from the rival gang. He was trying to get to me after I totally whooped his ass!" It came quicker – and in a more arrogant manner – than he would have liked. He gulped.

Silent, Matthew processed this new information with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. He had… the guy had been… huh? "What? Why was he shooting at you?"

Gilbert sighed. The drowsy early morning sun falling through the windows must be making the blonde slightly air-headed. "Like I told you: _I whooped his ass_. It's called revenge, smart one."

"But he could have killed you!"

"I think that was the point."

_Die for anyone_

Matthew slunk back down, after having sat up a bit in anxiety. He was having trouble believing all of it, though it did explain everything. He fought the urge to close his eyes, as fatigue was coaxing him back into the comfortable silence of black. "How long have I been out?"

"Since Thursday."

He glared. "And what day is it?"

"Friday morning. Eh… the bullet wasn't in you, so I didn't call the hospital or anything. I think I did I good job patching up, if I do say so myself." He closed the foot rest, and leaned forward in the chair. "Wouldn't want to pay them all that money just for them to give you rest and a bandage."

Matthew had a sinking feeling that that was all he had been given. He changed the subject. "Why didn't you call the police? You know, after the murder and all of those fights?"

_What have I become?_

Gilbert, appalled, stood and pointed an accusatory finger and the blonde. "I am not a fuckin' wuss! I don't run to the police after every damn problem." But he was given such a look that he sat back down. There was just one more thing to do… but it required swallowing his pride. And his pride was so big, he'd most likely choke. He tried anyway. "…I'm sorry." Instantly, he put his hand out, gripping one of the beers he had placed on the tray and took a long drink. There, all better. Everything was all better again!

Matthew expressed melancholy amusement. "Yeah, you're forgiven. Just tell me you'll get out of that gang! You'll worry me sick," he pleaded.

Gilbert shook his head, his eyes not looking at the blonde. "Nope, can't. They'd kill me, and I'm too awesome to die as a traitor." He took another drink. "I've been working on a plan though, so don't underestimate me." He lifted his can, as if asking for a toast, though he was the only one holding a beverage. "I'll be out of there in no time."

_Something's getting in the way_

As the black called for Matthew again, he managed a weary nod. "…Good, I'll be… waiting…"

"Matt," Gilbert said firmly, as he reached out. Though tempted to shake his friend's shoulder, he knew it wasn't wise. "Matt, that's not all! Don't fall asleep on me yet, damn it! Crap, do you know how hard all of this 'apologizing' stuff is?! Let me get it all out." He decided on poking his friend's cheek over and over.

_Something's just about to break_

Matthew made a slow noise, and forced his eyes open again, despite the demons in his head trying to capture him. "…What else do you possibly have to apologize for?"

_I will try to find my place_

"For…" He trailed off indefinitely, and leaned back in his chair once more with a huff. He stared to the side. "For leaving you, when it happened. I guess it was kind of… stupid. But it's just that I figured out where the bastards went! So I decided to avenge you, and make sure they never lay a fuckin' finger on you ever again. After kicking their asses again, they agreed." He cracked his knuckles, remembering the bloodlust that had overcome him days before. How they had cursed and screamed… how good it felt, knowing that Matthew would be left out of harm's way. Though, he wasn't completely satisfied. What if… what if they told one of the other gangs he had fought about his Achilles' heel? About how he'd do anything for the safety of the blonde lying before him? But he shooed those worries away. Worries weren't awesome.

_As I burn another page_

Matthew didn't seem as impressed as Gilbert felt. "What? Why? You… you didn't have to do that!"

"Yes, yes I did," the silverette said strongly, hoping it didn't sound too mushy.

He stared at him for a while, his eyes half-way closed and dim until another unanswered question ripped him back into reality. "But wait, why were you all battered when I saw you? And why weren't you at work?"

_As I look the other way_

Gilbert didn't answer at first. Telling the truth would get him in trouble, and so would lying… but with different people. "…It's classified." At the moan of disappointment, he cried, "Hey! If they find out that you know, if they find out about you period, they'll make you join! And trust me; you're not cut out for it." He understood how silly he must have sounded to Matthew, one who didn't know the rules of the group… ah, his mind was so messed up; he could feel a headache already. He rubbed his forehead.

Matthew moaned. "This sucks…"

"Well, there's life for ya." He smiled faintly, amused. With a heavy sigh, he stood, and patted his friend's hair fondly. "You can go back to sleep if you'd like. I know my awesomeness is tiresome."

"It always is," Matthew said, as he closed his eyes.

_I still try to find my place_

_

* * *

_

**A/N**: Lyrics used are from _The Diary of Jane_ by Breaking Benjamin, which I do not claim ownership of.

Darn it, this was terrible. The ending = terrible, where I put the lyrics = terrible. -dies- Ah well, the idea wouldn't leave me alone, so it deserves to be butchered. D:

**R&R**~!


End file.
